


Praying for Redemption

by RainbowFruitLoops



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowFruitLoops/pseuds/RainbowFruitLoops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a stranger called Dean Winchester advertises for a roommate in the local paper, Cas finds himself replying. Of course, Dean is only ever supposed to be a roommate - or maybe even a friend - but will he end up being more than Cas ever thought possible? Modern AU. Destiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

~ _Praying for Redemption~  
_ Chapter One.

_"Roommate wanted. Modern apartment, fully furnished, two minute walk from nearest shops. $450 per month, internet included. Call Dean on 1-785-2847-0275.”_

It was on a slight whim that Castiel - ever the introvert, and definitely _never_ one to make unnecessary human contact - called the cell phone number he had seen advertising a roommate in the local paper.

He wasn’t quite sure why he did it, really. He had a nice enough apartment - if a bit small, and occasionally damp (okay, okay, it was very often damp, but as long as he didn’t hang around in the kitchen for too long, he wouldn’t get too sick), but he was fine with that. The rent wasn’t too extortionate, and he didn’t have to walk far to reach the nearest fast food restaurants.

He didn’t have a roommate, no, but Cas just didn’t like people. He enjoyed being isolated, and though he did occasionally feel the pang of loneliness that so many people his age complained about, he was sure that - when the feeling became too hard to ignore - buying a cat would definitely suffice. Cas liked cats.

So what was he thinking, calling up a stranger to ask if he could have a look around his home? Sure, the apartment might be a lot nicer than his own, seeing as though it was probably in the nice part of Lawrence, not the unclean, crime-ridden part, but Cas’s own was fine, and he _certainly_ didn’t need an inquisitive roommate poking his nose into his affairs, did he?

There was absolutely no reason at all for him to contact _anyone_ about an apartment, nice or not, but, despite everything, Cas found himself waiting for this ‘Dean’ to pick up his phone, his stomach all tense and twisted with a familiar nervousness.

So, when Dean’s voice spoke out across Cas’s phone’s speakers, his voice like liquid honey - a ray of amber sunshine after a storm, Cas almost dropped his phone in surprise. He really wasn’t sure why he was so startled that Dean had answered, though, because that’s what people were supposed to do when their phones rang.

“Hello, this is Dean Winchester speaking.” Dean answered cheerfully, and Cas was immediately drawn to hisdeep, rough voice, despite knowing nothing about the man.

Slightly flustered, because that’s what he did best in social situations, Cas managed to answer the phone without yelping in surprise. “Hello, my name is Castiel Novak, and I’m ringing in response to the roommate advertisement you posted in today’s newspaper.”

Quietly - so the stranger wouldn’t hear his anxiety - Cas released the breath he’d been holding. That wasn’t too bad. He’d sounded sane, and moderately intelligent.

Dean made a surprised noise at his end of the phone. “Already? Wow. I thought it was going to take months for someone to respond. I thought I’d be all alone for months on end, with only actors on the TV to keep me company!” He chuckled to himself, and, idly, Cas wondered why this stranger was laughing with him.

At Cas’s lack of response, Dean cleared his throat, sounding semi-awkward at the long stretch of uncomfortable silence that no doubt made him fidget. “Okay. So, do you want to come around and look at the apartment today, then?”

Startled by the abrupt question, Cas was thrown into an inner panic - did he actually want to go and see the apartment? What was the point, when he already had a place to call home? And he didn’t want a roommate. He was supposed to dislike people, even ones who had nice voices. Why had he even called in the first place? How was he going to get out of this one? How could he say ‘no’ now?

"Uh, buddy?” Dean sounded mildly concerned, and Cas chided himself for being so awkward. “You still there?”

“I-yes, I’m here.” Cas finally replied, bringing his spare hand up to his head to press his fingers to his temples.

“And…?” Dean asked, referring to his previous question. “You want to come round?”

And, for reasons completely unknown to himself, Cas found himself answering, “Yes. I do.”

* * *

After Dean had given him the address, and a time to meet at the apartment, Cas slumped back in the awkward chair he had been perched in. He was currently sitting inside a coffee shop, a cup of now-lukewarm coffee sitting in front of him.

It was eleven o’clock in the morning, and the rest of the day stretched out in front of him; lonely and bitter and dull. Cas didn’t have a job - or, rather, he had been fired from his previous job as an assistant to a pretty decent photographer, because of his “pretty disabling personal issues”, as his boss had put it.

Cas didn’t really think that it was fair to dismiss someone on account of their hindering personal problems, but here he was; jobless, cold because his much-loved trench coat was starting to get holes, and about to meet a complete stranger on the terms of moving in with him.

Belatedly, Cas wondered if he should have asked Dean what he looked like - perhaps asked him to wear a red carnation or a paisley scarf, even if it was a little bit cheesy - because he was sure that the streets would be pretty busy at five thirty in the evening. And he didn’t want to go up to every man he saw and ask him if they were “Dean from the advertisement”, because that would involve talking to more strangers, and Cas didn’t feel quite up to that.

Cas sighed then, annoyed with his slight misanthropic attitude, and frustrated with his failure to react well publicly. He took a sip of his coffee - hoping that it would calm his thoughts down to a more bearable pace - before pushing the cheap cup away from himself, disgusted at its now-icy temperature.

He thought briefly about buying another one - anything to eradicate the cold that was nipping at his fingers and caressing his shoulders, but he was too tense to keep anything down, and he could always make himself some pretty awful decaf coffee back at his apartment if he needed to.

As Cas stood up to leave the warmth that the café provided, it suddenly occurred to him that Dean didn’t know who he was. Dean didn’t know his face. So, technically… Well, Cas didn’t really need to turn up at the apartment at all, did he? He could just hide away in his own, heater-less flat until Dean gave up on him.

A little part of him would feel bad for wasting Dean’s time, and for abusing his obviously cheerfully trusting nature, but Cas was sure that could live with himself. He was sure that Dean would have many more offers, so he really wouldn’t be losing out if Cas didn’t show up.

But as he walked back to his decidedly dingy apartment, Cas realised that this was what the doctors had encouraged him to do. Make some changes in his life. Step out of his comfort zone. Meet new people. Experience new things.

And, well, if meeting Dean Winchester, the stranger with the expensive flat and the nice voice, was what the doctors had ordered, then Cas really didn’t have a choice, did he?


	2. Chapter 2

_~Praying for Redemption~_  
Chapter Two.

Though he didn’t want to appear too enthusiastic at the thought of looking around a stranger’s apartment, Cas made sure that he was ten minutes early to his meeting with Dean. He’d never liked being late to anything, but that was probably only because he didn’t like all the attention that being tardy brought with it.

Cas didn’t feel the desperate urge to own a car - why would he? He never left Lawrence - much less Kansas, as tragic as that was - and everything that he needed - milk, toothpaste, toilet paper, and caffeine - were all within walking distance from his apartment.

So he didn’t feel that he could justify spending money he didn’t really have on a car, which had meant that he had ended up having to walk the four, painfully long miles required to reach Dean’s apartment. And, as someone who participated in as little exercise as himself, it had not been a particularly easy or enjoyable walk.

And so now a tired, sore-limbed Cas was waiting outside of the apartment complex Dean had told him to wait at, his stomach tense and heavy in his anxiousness. He was trying to keep his breathing unwavering and collected; he didn’t think that hyperventilating because of his social ineptness would be a good way to meet Dean.

Sometimes Cas wondered whether he would ever be comfortable around people he didn’t know. He hated how inadequate he often felt; shy and pathetic and weak. He sometimes wished that he held that undeniably bright spark of self-confidence that so few people had; brilliant and vivid and colourful.

But he didn’t, and he hated that about himself. He would describe himself as dull and repetitive and monotonous; coloured in all different shades of the same dismal grey. It didn’t matter how much he wished to be able to smile, because he just couldn’t.

Cas sighed to himself in the cool air, pulled his grubby coat tighter across his chest, and cursed himself for not bringing a scarf, or at least something a little warmer than his present attire. It was a cold evening - not exactly surprising in the middle of winter, but he had been too nervous about his meeting with Dean to think about bringing a thicker, warmer jacket.

On the subject of his possible-new-roommate, where was Dean? After checking the time on his phone, Cas did have to admit that Dean wasn’t due to meet him for another seven and a half minutes, but the oh-so familiar clutches of panic had taken hold of him.

What if he was waiting outside of the wrong apartment? What if he had misheard the address? What if Dean didn’t really want to meet him, and had raced home from work early to hide in his apartment? Was he watching Cas from one of his windows, entertained by his obviously uneasy movements?

Though he knew he was being paranoid, Cas glanced upwards at the forward-facing windows of the apartment complex and scanned the windows, looking for an amused face. When he found none, he exhaled sharply, and dropped his eyes to instead scan the streets.

While he waited, Cas found his mind drifting. What would he do if he genuinely liked the apartment? Perhaps he would find a soft comfort in its presumably cosy warmth, a safe haven in living with another human soul? Perhaps he would, despite his undying and completely unprovoked abhorrence of people, come to actually like this Dean Winchester - though, surely he couldn’t really believe that. But… Well, here he was, waiting outside a stranger’s apartment, and that had to be a sign of _something_ , right?

As he scanned the roads with half-attentive eyes, Cas noticed a car crawling up the road, slowing down to pull to the side. Now, he wasn’t an expert on cars, not by a long shot, but even Cas had to admit that it was absolutely _beautiful._ He’d never be able to state the year or model, but it was sleek and black and obviously well loved.

After a few more seconds of what he hoped looked like casual observing, Cas averted his eyes from the glossy black car, because the remarkably handsome man who had been driving it was getting out, and Cas didn’t want to accidentally make the oh-so dreaded eye contact.

For want of something to do, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time again; _five twenty six_ _._ Four minutes. He pushed the phone back into his trench coat’s pocket, and rocked lightly on the balls of his feet, feigning a relaxed attitude.

And then, suddenly, there was a firm, yet slightly hesitant hand on his shoulder, and Cas automatically shied away from the touch; flinching back in a way that was sure to offend the perpetrator. The hand withdrew hastily, and Cas turned to find himself locking eyes _\- and, damn, he had so hoped to avoid doing that -_ with the decidedly attractive man with the nice car.

Cas’s initial thoughts were ones of panic - _did he see me looking at his car? Does he want something from me? Do I come across as being a threatening person?_ He couldn’t see any reason for this man to approach him, and so his mind automatically feared the worst.

But then the man smiled brightly, his breathtaking eyes going all crinkly at the edges, and asked, “Castiel?”. Cas let out a slightly shaky breath, and found himself relaxing in a way that he rarely did in front of other people.

“Yes. Dean, I presume?” Cas asked, staring intently at the man in front of him. His scrutinizing ways often made people uncomfortable, but Dean just smiled a little more.

“Yeah. Hi, Castiel. Sorry if I’m late, there was a small crisis before I left work.” he explained, stepping forwards and gesturing for Cas to follow him. “But I left my best man in charge, so hopefully everything should be okay.”

Cas was silent as he followed the stranger into the main apartment complex, noticing briefly that everything seemed clean, warm and, well, _expensive._ He followed Dean towards the stairs and - noticing that Dean forwent the elevator - started the probably arduous climb.

Remembering his basic etiquette - he supposed he wanted to make a good first impression, if he really was serious about living with this man - Cas asked, “Where do you work?”

Dean turned his head around to flash Cas an acknowledging smile, before turning back to focus on the stairs. “I run a mechanics a few blocks away.”

Cas nodded quietly to himself, filing the information away in his head under where the hazy title ‘Dean Winchester’ was forming.

“And you?” Dean asked, coming to a halt on the seventh floor. He pulled a keychain out of his pocket, and walked down the length of the corridor, jingling the keys as he did so.

Cas followed him, and wondered momentarily how ‘I’m unemployed’ would come across to someone who would be expecting four hundred and fifty dollars a month from him.

“I am currently unemployed,” Cas started, not wanting their relationship to be built on lies. “But I used to work as a photographer’s assistant.”

“You interested in photography?” Dean asked, stopping outside of door number sixty six. He paused to give Cas his full attention - something Cas wasn’t used to, outside of his treatment at the stupid therapy sessions he was forced to attend.

Cas gave a minute shrug, and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Not particularly. But I needed the work, and they were hiring. I couldn’t afford to be picky.”

Dean chuckled. “Isn’t that always the way?”

“I suppose so.”

Dean’s eyes - unnervingly green, they were - flickered around Cas’s face, his eyebrows drawing downwards in a mix of confusion and amusement for the tiniest of seconds.

He turned towards the door again, and, after swiftly unlocking it, pushed it open.

“Well, here we go.”


	3. Chapter 3

~ _Praying for Redemption~_  
Chapter Three.

The first thing Cas noticed about Dean’s apartment was the overwhelming, aching sense of _home._ Not in a sappy, completely irrational kind of way, but more in a cluttered, warm, lived-in type of way.

There were small stacks of books piled up on every surface, a dark brown leather couch that looked almost painfully comfortable positioned in front of the large television, and - much to Cas’s delight - a large fireplace at the centre of the back wall.

“Sorry about the mess.” Dean apologised, stepping into the room to throw his keys onto the table to his left. “I didn’t realise that someone would be coming over so soon.”

Cas gave a slight murmur to show that he’d been listening, and cautiously stepped into the apartment to further inspect it. His eyes flickered over every surface, taking in the collection of pots and pans in the kitchen - Dean enjoyed cooking, it seemed. He took in the half-full bowl of fruit sitting on the kitchen countertop, and wondered how often Dean ate from it.

He took in the creamy mocha-brown walls, and the dark scarlet feature wall behind the fireplace. He took in the large wicker basket of firewood that was packed hazardously high for the cold winter, and the thick, heavy curtains that hung open, showing off the increasingly darkening skyline.

It was a nice apartment, Cas had to admit. Aside from all of the charm that seemed to have exploded into a delirious warmth throughout the room - the positive sentiment personified through Dean’s charismatic smile and crazy-olive eyes - Cas thought that, as a building, it looked structurally stable. Cas appreciated that in an apartment.

Dean watched Cas’s journey through the apartment’s living room nervously, half-heartedly straightening one of the many piles of books in an attempt to tidy the place up as he did so.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, and Cas thought that he sounded slightly nervous, like he thought that maybe there was something unappealing about the unorganised clutter. But Cas… well, he had begun to like chaos.

Avoiding Dean’s question - because Cas thought that answering might lead to some sort of unspoken promise to move in with him - Cas wandered over to a random pile of books on the kitchen bench, and ran his finger down the spine of the thickest one.

“You have some very nice books.” Cas said instead, noticing many famous works by very well known authors. “I would love to read some of them.”

Dean smiled softly, and his eyes held a mix of bittersweet nostalgia and loneliness. It made Cas wonder who the books belonged to - or _had_ belonged to - and what kind of memories surrounded them.

“They’re my brother’s.” Dean murmured, absentmindedly tracing a pattern across the cover of one of the books. “I keep meaning to do something with them now that he’s gone, but…” he paused for a second. “I suppose I like them where they are.”

“I see.” Cas said, picking up a book to flick through its pages lightly. He loved the smell of books - a musty, old kind of scent that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he loved it all the same. “And where is your brother now?”

“He went off to study law at Stanford a few months ago.” Dean answered, before rubbing his obviously cold fingers together. He strode over to the fireplace, presumably to provide a little bit of warmth in the progressively cold room. “I miss him a lot, you know?”

Cas nodded to himself, his eyes still fixed on the books. “Yes, I do know. Is that why you’re looking for a roommate? Do you need someone to pay half the rent for you?”

Dean chuckled, and - having started the fire up - wandered back over to stand awkwardly behind where Cas was still enchanted by the sheer number of dusty old books.

“Not really, no. My family- well, I suppose we’re quite wealthy. So it’s not that, it’s just…” Dean trailed off, and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I suppose I get lonely on my own. And so I thought, why not get a roommate?”

For the second time that day, Cas remembered his manners, and turned around to face Dean - he could look at the books another time, he was sure. Because… Despite everything, he _did_ like the apartment. He liked the books, the fireplace, the warm comfortthat he had unearthed _._

So what was the point in returning back to his dreary, grubby apartment, where the rent was almost as expensive, and he frequently faced the risk of hypothermia? Dean needed someone to stay with him, and… well, Cas supposed that, after everything he had been through over the past few months, he really needed someone too.

Fixing Dean with his scrutinizing look, Cas tilted his head to the right slightly. “Do you get lonely easily, Dean?”

Dean looked a bit surprised by the question, yet he didn’t flinch away as so many others had done before him. “Uh, not normally, no, I suppose. It’s just that I’ve lived with my brother my entire life, so it was, well, not very pleasant to have him leave me.”

“Yet you think that letting a stranger into your apartment will satisfy your craving for companionship?” Cas was aware that he was asking questions that were far too personal, seeing as though the two had only met that day. But he couldn’t help himself - if he was seriously considering stepping so far out of his comfort zone to share a flat with Dean, then he wanted to at least know what the man was made of.

Dean shrugged lightly, and easy grin lighting up his face as he thought about his answer. It was the type of smile that Cas wished he could see in the mirror sometimes. “Yeah, well, it’s worth a shot, right?”

And it was at that point that Cas decided that he didn’t just like the apartment - he liked Dean too. Dean was honest, and seemed reliable, and that’s what Cas needed in his life. Honesty. Reliability. Someone he could trust.

“Would you ever consider buying a cat?” Cas asked suddenly - remembering his thoughts the previous morning. “Cats are naturally calming animals, and provide great company and warmth. I have often thought about buying myself a cat.”

Dean shot him an amused glance, his lips turning upwards ever-so-slightly. “Are you seriously suggesting that I buy a _cat_ instead of getting a roommate?”

Cas shook his head in response, and questioned if maybe he had said the wrong thing. Maybe Dean just didn’t like cats. It was a possibility. Or maybe he was allergic to them? That would be a shame, because Cas thought that they were so graceful; dreadfully haughty sometimes, sure, but agile and beautiful nonetheless.

“No, never mind about the cat. I was just curious.”

Dean smirked, and raised an eyebrow. “Is that your way of politely telling me that you’re not interested in the apartment? Because, if you’re not, that’s totally fine, I wasn’t expecting anyone for months anyway.”

Cas shook his head again, and fiddled with his coat’s hem awkwardly. “No, it’s not that. I think…” he trailed off, because he wasn’t sure what he thought. Was he really serious about moving in? He liked the apartment, and he thought that he liked Dean, but was such a spontaneous decision going to come back to haunt him later?

_Come on. Live a little, Cas._

“I think I could be happy here.” Cas said slowly, eyeing Dean carefully. “I think… I would be interested in moving in.”

But as soon as he said it, Cas started panicking. What if Dean didn’t like him? What if he had made a terribly bad first impression, what with his eerie staring and too-intimate questions? What if Dean’s earlier comment - _‘…if you’re not, that’s totally fine’ -_ had meant to discourage Cas from moving in? Was he hinting at something, but Cas hadn’t picked up on it?

But then Dean’s face lit up brightly, and he flashed Cas another one of his crinkly-eyed smiles. And, in spite of everything, Cas felt himself returning the grin, though he was sure that the emotion looked foreign and strange on his face.

“Wow, really? You want to move in already?” Dean seemed enthusiastic, and it relieved Cas. “That’s great. I must have done a real good job selling the place. It’s probably because I didn’t mention the recently-released-from-prison serial killer on the floor below us, or the fact that this room’s haunted by the ghost of a young woman who was brutally murdered here almost fifty years ago.”

Cas was positively aghast at such information, and he could feel his eyes widening to an almost comical, cartoon-like size. “I think I’ve changed my mind, actually, Dean.”

Dean chuckled quietly to himself, and the noise sounded like the feeling of silky-soft feathers brushing against calloused fingers. “I was kidding, Castiel - it was a joke. We’re not haunted, not as far as I can tell, and there are no mass murderers anywhere.”

Cas looked at him suspiciously, his bright cobalt eyes narrowing. “If you say so.”

Dean rolled his eyes playfully. “Trust me.”

And, for the first time in God-knows-how-many years, Cas found himself thinking: _You know, I think I might be able to._


	4. Chapter 4

~ _Praying for Redemption~_  
Chapter Four.

After looking around the rest of the apartment - which, in hindsight, Cas really aught to have done before he actually agreed to move in with Dean - Cas had to admit that his rash actions of the morning had - for once - paid off.

He liked Dean, and he liked the apartment. It made his own seem deeply inferior; freezing cold - in both temperature and tone - lonely, and disgustingly empty. But Dean’s apartment was nice; welcomingly warm, and filled with pleasant memories that Cas hoped he could one day learn of.

It was seven o’clock at night now, and Cas was quite astonished that he and Dean had been able to spend an hour and a half simply talking. Cas never had been one for chatting; preferring to simply listen to the conversations around him, and while today with Dean hadn’t been any different, Cas had been genuinely happy listening to him speak.

Despite his initial amazement at his immediate connection with Dean, Cas did have to admit that he wasn’t particularly surprised. He was the type of person who despised most people he met, and was quickly irritated by their pathetic, pretentious attempts to converse with him - yet, when he found someone he did like, he became disturbingly clingy _very_ quickly.

His therapist had told him that he had a mild form of Dependant Personality Disorder, but Cas hoped that Dean wouldn’t mind too much. He did have a habit of driving people away with his socially awkward conduct - not that it had ever bothered him before, but, for reasons he didn’t quite understand, he didn’t want Dean to see how much of a failure he really was.

Cas sighed to himself, his breath visible in the cold night air. He was walking back to his own apartment, and it was a lot colder than he had thought. Perhaps that was because he’d been so warm before, in Dean’s apartment, and the sudden harshness of the outside world had come as a bit of a shock.

Dean - brought up as a gentleman, Cas decided - had offered to drive him back to his apartment, but Cas had hastily declined for two reasons. Reason one was that he didn’t want Dean to see that he lived in a crap-hole apartment, because then he might start questioning whether Cas really would be able to pay half the rent every month. And the second reason was that, as much as he had enjoyed Dean’s company, Cas needed the time to think.

And thinking - especially over-thinking - was what Cas did best.

He’d have to tell his landlord that he was moving out of the apartment, Cas remembered. He made a mental note to write him a letter or an email, or even - at a stretch, give him a ring - the next morning, because Cas didn’t actually want to speak face-to-face with the man. His landlord was a pot-bellied, sweatpants-wearing, greying pig of a man, and speaking to him made Cas very uncomfortable.

But Cas needed to sort out how quickly he could leave, and how much money he would need to pay for breaking his lease. Vaguely, Cas remembered agreeing on an seven month lease - a strange timeframe for an apartment lease, sure, but Cas had been hoping to move to a new state once his lease was up. But, yes, Cas had only been living in his shabby apartment for three months, which meant that he’d have to pay another four months rent, and, on top of his half of the rent for Dean’s apartment, Cas wasn’t sure that he could afford it.

A surge of panic hit Cas with an unimaginable force, and it caused him to stop walking for a second. He couldn’t afford to pay four months of unnecessary rent in his jobless state. He might not be able to move in with Dean for another few months.

_A few months._

Cas sucked in a deep breath, and forced his body to keep moving; he really didn’t want to get frostbite or hypothermia or even pneumonia. He couldn’t afford hospital bills on top of everything else. As Cas walked, he forced his mind to calmly analyse the situation.

Okay, so maybe he couldn’t move in with Dean for another four months. But that wasn’t too bad, was it? He’d coped in his little apartment for three months already, and he had been fine. He hadn’t even doubted his living arrangements until he’d seen Dean’s advertisement.

So why was he worrying? He was sure he wouldn’t die in his crappy apartment - especially not if he made sure he had a sufficient number of blankets, and only turned on the power of his electronics when he absolutely needed them - so what was the problem? Was he stressing because he was scared that Dean would tell him not to bother, and that he’d find someone else to move in with him? But Cas had got there _first,_ so it wasn’t _fair._

Cas blew air out of his cheeks, and buried his frosty fingers in his pockets. Why was he so set on moving in with Dean anyway? Dean was still only a stranger to him, and, as much as Cas liked him, they had only met once. He didn’t _know_ Dean, and he was in no position to be forming one of his weird psychological connections.

But there was something about Dean… Something completely bright about him; something that contrasted Cas’s pessimistic attitude. He liked how Dean hadn’t flinched away from his too-personal questions, hadn’t backed away from his penetrating stare. He liked how Dean hadn’t called him out on any of his weird social tendencies, like how he stood far too close - surely, something Dean would have noticed?

Dean treated him like he was _normal,_ and that was a rare occurrence in the world of Castiel Novak.

But now… Now he was going to have to hide away in his shabby apartment for four months, hoping desperately that Dean wouldn’t find someone else to read the books with.

Cas made a frustrated noise in the almost-pitch-black darkness - the only light source being the few half-arsed street lamps dotted around the place -  and pulled his half-charged phone out of his pocket. He may as well call Dean now and tell him the news, so that Dean wouldn’t take his advertisement out of the newspaper.

Thankful for having saved Dean’s number, even though he had felt a little bit like a stalker at the time, Cas dialled. Dean picked up on the first ring.

“Castiel?” Dean asked, and Cas smiled, because Dean must have saved his number too. “Are you all right? Do you need a lift home after all?”

Cas swallowed, and hung his head low, feeling guilty under all of Dean’s friendly thoughtfulness. “Hello, Dean. No, I don’t need a ride home, thank you. I was just calling to say that I can’t move in with you. I’m sorry.”

Dean was silent for a long few seconds, and Cas imagined his eyebrows furrowing, his vibrant green eyes confused. “Wait, what? Why not?” Dean asked, sounding slightly indignant. “Did you not actually like the apartment? Honestly, you could have just said something, I wouldn’t have minded at all.” He trailed off, and the silence that followed was deafening.   
  
Prickling with embarrassment at his almost-poverty-stricken state, Cas answered quickly. “No, Dean. I really like the apartment. It’s just, I realised that, if I moved in with you, I’d have to pay my landlord four months worth of rent on top of the rent for your apartment.”

Dean was silent.

“And I can’t afford it all at once.” Cas clarified after a few seconds. “Not now that I’ve lost my job.”

Dean was still silent, and Cas suddenly regretting ever calling him. Dean was probably trying to think of a polite way to tell him not to even bother trying to scrounge up what little he could find, because he’d find someone else who wasn’t almost bankrupt.

“Would you be able to pay for just the four months rent on your old apartment?” Dean asked suddenly, and Cas wondered what was going through his head.

Cas did some mental calculations, and, after wincing lightly at the outcome, replied with: “Possibly. It would be a bit of a struggle, but I could probably do it. Why?”

And then Dean chuckled. “Okay, look, you talk to your landlord and tell him that you’re moving out. Pay him the four months rent, and I’ll pay your half of the rent here for as long as you need me to.”

“No, Dean, I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Cas murmured after a few seconds. Dean’s offer was far too tempting, but he couldn’t possibly accept it. He didn’t like people spending money on him; it made him feel too much like a liability. But he was right about one thing: Dean _had_ been brought up as a gentleman.

“Well, it’s my money, and I get to choose who I spend it on.” Dean said, and Cas could almost _hear_ him grinning. “Look, I like you, Cas-” _Cas?_ Cas couldn’t help but smile at the friendly nickname. “-and I think we’ll be good for each other.”

And it was then that Cas realised that Dean Winchester was a man worth fighting for.


	5. Chapter 5

~ _Praying for Redemption~_  
Chapter Five.

Cas awoke with a start at the loud, insistent tapping on his apartment door. Groggily, he rolled out of bed, located his tattered navy-blue dressing gown with bleary eyes, and pulled open the door; letting the chill from the outside flood in and wrap its frosty fingers around his unmoving body.

Dean stood there smiling, despite the fact that it was only - Cas glanced back at his flashing alarm clock - five thirty in the morning. Cas didn't think that anyone should be smiling at five thirty in the morning, not even Dean.

  "Hi, Cas." Dean said, his eyes turning mildly apologetic at Cas's rumpled, sleepy state. "I'm sorry for waking you up so early."

Cas blinked his eyes, his mind racing to catch up with what Dean was saying. He had known that Dean would be calling around at some point in the morning - despite his initial embarrassment about Dean finding out that he lived in the not-so-nice part of Lawrence.

But when Dean had said 'at some point in the morning', Cas hadn't really been expecting him before _dawn._ Who the hell considered _before dawn_ to be 'at some point in the morning'?

Cas blinked again, and reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes. "Hello, Dean." he finally answered, clearing his throat in the hopes of making it less croaky. "Why are you here so early?"

Dean smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I have to go into the garage early today, and I thought I'd call in sooner rather than later. We don't want you still unpacking at ten o'clock tonight, do we?"

Cas tightened his dressing gown's belt, and ran his fingers through the ends of his mussed-up bed hair. "I suppose not."

Dean smiled brightly again, yet Cas noticed that there were purple shadows beneath his eyes. He looked tired, and Cas wondered why. Perhaps he had been up all night, stressing as Cas had been. But, then again, Cas didn't think that Dean was the type of person who would be anxious at the thought of living with a complete stranger.

Cas focused his attention back on Dean, just as the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver key, which he held out for Cas to take. "Here you go. I'll see you at around five-ish tonight, and we can talk then, okay?"

Cas nodded mutely, and gripped the key tight; its sharp edge digging into the soft skin of his palm. "All right. Goodbye, Dean."

  "See you, Cas."

And with that, Dean left, and Cas shut the door behind him with a quiet _thud_ ; still blinking his tiredness out of his bright blue eyes.

Having been woken up, Cas very much doubted that he'd be able to get back to sleep. Especially because Dean had given him a very important item: a copy of his apartment key.

After a few more phone calls with Dean, and a string of emails to his landlord, Cas and Dean had finally come to an agreement. Cas was going to be moving in that day, but, because Dean was working until five o'clock that evening, the two had decided that Dean would drop off a key so that Cas could move in early.

A little part of Cas was quite surprised - though delighted at the same time - that Dean trusted him in his apartment alone. And he was glad that he would be able to move in without Dean watching him unpack, because he was still very self-conscious - even in front of the people he decided he liked.

Cas had his suitcase packed full with all of his possessions - as few as they were - and he was ready to head over to Dean's apartment - _no,_ he must stop calling it that, because it was _his_ apartment now, too - as soon as he was ready.

Cas sighed to himself, yet it wasn't a wary sigh; it was a content sigh. He was starting his life over again, and he could _choose_ who he wanted to be this time round. He didn't need to be bound to the pathetic, socially anxious shell of a man he'd become. He could choose to be truly happy - to be satisfied with what he had, and to appreciate the memories he was going to, one day, remember as being one of the best times of his entire life.

He didn't need to be haunted by the past, and, finally, it seemed as though he was breaking free from his dark struggle with what had happened to him barely a few months ago.

His therapist _would_ be pleased.

* * *

When Cas finally made it half way across Lawrence to Dean's apartment, he was thoroughly shattered. He'd been walking for what seemed like hours, but probably wasn't; dragging an - admittedly not-too heavy - suitcase behind him. And, just to add to the already arduous walk, it had started raining half way through the journey, so now Cas - and his suitcase - were completely and utterly soaked.

Cas exhaled dramatically, and pressed his fingers to his temples briefly, before beginning his ascent up the stairs that would take him to room number sixty six. He did have to admit that he was eager to be able to call this apartment home, despite the rough start to the day.

Upon reaching the right room, Cas reached into his trench coat pockets, and pulled out the shiny key. Cas regarded it for a second, thinking of how much it could symbolize, before he pushed it into the lock, and opened the door.

_Home._

In the few says since Cas had last seen it, nothing had changed. The books were still piled up erratically, some stacks only three books high, other stacks bordering on twenty. The amount of firewood in the wicker basket had decreased, Cas noticed, and it made him feel slightly funny; thinking about Dean alone in his apartment, mutely piling wood into the fireplace to warm only himself.

Cas pulled his soggy suitcase into the living room, and shut the door behind him. He was then aware that he was dripping mucky rainwater all over Dean's unfortunately _white_ carpet, and so he, surprising himself with his quick thinking, swept both himself and his suitcase into the bathroom.

Cas exhaled again, and looked around the bathroom. It was very clean, he noticed, not that he had been expecting anything different. There was a large shower, and it looked very inviting to a soggy, chilly Cas.

After stripping himself of his wet clothes, Cas wondered briefly where to put them. Did Dean have a washing machine? Or did he have to walk down the road to that dry-cleaners he'd noticed a few blocks back? Shrugging his shoulders lightly to himself, Cas settled on putting his clothes in a little pile on the floor - he'd deal with them once he was dry and warm.

Cas then turned to the shower and regarded it apprehensively. It looked a little more complex than his previous one; all his had had was a basic dial that changed the water from cold to hot.

But Dean's shower had strange little knobs and different dials with different pictures on them, and Cas just prayed that he wouldn't end up breaking something, or accidentally giving himself third degree burns.

He _was_ trying to trick Dean into thinking he was intelligent, after all.

After tentatively playing with a few of the dials in the shower, Cas managed to get the water to a temperature that didn't feel as though it was removing twenty layers of skin. And, after a five minute inner debate with himself, because _damn it,_ he hadn't brought any soap or shampoo with him, Cas decided that Dean wouldn't mind if he used his scarily expensive-looking products, and he then spent a further five minutes just standing in the hot water; letting it run down his body and soothe his aching muscles.

Cas had always thought that running water - whether it be a cascading waterfall or a delicate trickle - was a calming sensation. Just the feel, the sound, the almost dream-like state he often found himself in whilst underneath said water was enough to release the anxious knot in his stomach, and lift the hazy worry that was clouding his brain.

Cas didn't like feeling so nervous all the time, and he really hoped that Dean's presence in his life would, one day, be enough to eradicate the constant feeling.

After a few more seconds of speculating, Cas decided that he didn't want to waste all of Dean's hot water, and hastily turned the shower off. He stepped out of the shower awkwardly, opened his wet suitcase, and realised that almost everything inside was either uncomfortably damp or absolutely dripping wet, which meant: no clothes, no towel.

Damn it, Cas knew that not buying that expensive, waterproof suitcase that one time had been a mistake.

Sighing to himself; really, this was beginning to turn into a bit of a fiasco, Cas wandered around the bathroom - still dripping wet - and eventually managed to locate Dean's fluffy white towels, which, thankfully, were kept in a cupboard just to the left of the bathroom. Again, he hoped that Dean wouldn't mind him using all of his stuff.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, Cas closed his eyes briefly, and started rummaging through his suitcase; looking for something - _anything -_ he could wear until the rest of his clothes dried. He was okay with using Dean's soap and and towels, but Cas absolutely drew the line at wearing Dean's clothes.

Luckily, however, Cas managed to locate a patch of semi-dry clothes in the middle of his suitcase. He pulled them out eagerly, before his face dropped as he realised what the clothes were. A brightly coloured scarf that he never wore, a raincoat which would have been helpful an hour ago, and the bright blue tie that he wore almost as much as his trench coat, despite the fact that he didn't really have anywhere formal enough to wear it to.

Fortunately, wrapped up in the bundle, Cas also found a pair of black, mid-thigh boxer shorts and two mismatched socks; one sock bright red, the other blue and grey striped. Those would have to do.

After pulling on the boxers and socks - an interesting and eccentric combination of clothing and colours, Cas had to admit - he wandered into the living room, and eyed the fireplace contemplatively. His exposed torso and thighs were making him cold, and he really needed to dry his clothes before Dean got back. On the other hand, though, Cas could just see everything going spectacularly badly, and he really didn't want to be the first roommate Dean had trusted to be alone in the apartment who had managed to set it on fire.

Ah, Cas was sure that even _he_ could light a fire without setting the room ablaze. And he was sure that - if it came to it - he'd be able to put the fire out with minimal damage to the surroundings.

He walked over and crouched down in front of the fireplace, and noticed the stack of old newspapers beside the wicker basket. He grabbed a paper, and started ripping the pages into small shreds.

Cas had to admit it - he was a bit of a novice at lighting fires. He'd always wanted a fireplace, because he found them nice in a rustic sort of way, but all the apartments he'd ever lived in had always had barely-working central heating. Idly, Cas wondered why Dean's apartment had a fireplace, before deciding that it was because he lived in the nice part of Lawrence.

As he worked on the fire, Cas speculated in the way he did best.

It was nice, in this flash city apartment with its working microwave and a fridge that probably stayed cold and a shower with actual hot water. The television wasn't a crappy little box set, and, from where he was crouched, Cas could see that there was a DVD player hooked up to it.

That could be nice. Watching silly DVDs with Dean, a fire burning in the background, feeling content and at peace.

_Hm._

And Cas knew that he was going to be very happy indeed.

 


	6. Chapter 6

~Praying for Redemption~  
Chapter Six.

After Cas had managed to hang all of his clothes up around the living room to dry, he wasn't quite sure what to do next. He couldn't properly unpack, not with all his clothes strewn about the place, and he really didn't have very many possessions that weren't clothing.  
  
In want of something to do, Cas perched himself at the end of the large sofa, clasping his strangely clammy hands together inelegantly. The large room seemed eerily quiet, Cas noticed, and it unnerved him slightly. His old apartment had never felt so… so wrong in all the silence.  
  
But there was also another feeling that Cas got from the apartment. It was almost as though it was begging to explored - praying for someone to get lost in all of its hidden nooks and buried memories.  
  
And, with at least six long hours until Dean got back from work, Cas was more than happy to oblige.  
  
There was a bookshelf located to the right of the fireplace, and that too was crammed with books. But, on the bottom shelf, Cas noticed something that looked suspiciously like a collection of battered photo albums. He got up of the sofa, and walked over to crouch down in front of the bookshelf. He was right; there were two dusty old photo albums stacked against a large encyclopaedia.  
  
Cas pulled one of the photo albums out of the bookshelf, and sat down cross-legged on the carpet. Curiously, he opened the album, and was greeted with a picture of a young, smiling blonde woman with a baby in her arms. The description beside the old photo read, "Mary and Dean in the hospital. January 24th, 1979."  
  
Cas had never seen a picture of himself as a child, and it pleased him that Dean's parents had obviously loved him enough to think about these things. One grew out of being a child so quickly, and it was always nice to have the memories stored somewhere in a physical form.  
  
Cas focused his attention back on the photo album in his lap. Mary looked like Dean, he noticed. She had the same smile that he had already recognised in Dean; her eyes all warm and bright, but they lacked the mesmerising green of Dean's. Cas wondered where the vibrant emerald had come from.  
  
Smiling lightly to himself, Cas continued to flick through the pages. The pictures were all of the young Dean and his parents in different places; the beach, their garden, the park. Dean's father - at least, Cas presumed the man was Dean's father - looked nice too; dark haired and handsome.  
  
The pictures continued in a similar fashion until a date labelled 'May 2nd, 1983', when a new baby entered the picture. Cas could only assume that this was Sam, the brother with the books who was studying law at Stanford. He was expecting Sam to have the same blonde-brown hair as Dean, but as he flicked through the pages, Cas noticed that the baby's hair was dark and unruly, much like his father's.  
  
It seemed as though Dean and Sam had experienced a very happy childhood, but then - around the time when Sam would have been maybe six months old - the photos simply stopped. Granted, Cas was nearing the end of the album, but there were still spaces for at least twenty photos.  
  
Hm. Cas wondered where all of the memories had gone.  
  
Inquisitively, he pulled out the other photo album, and opened it, eager to see what the next photo documenting the life of the Winchesters was. The photo that greeted Cas was of an unsmiling, twelve-year old Dean, and it surprised him. Why wasn't Dean happy? And why had there been such a big gap between photos? Judging from the last album, the Winchesters had taken photographic evidence of everything they had done with their boys - even mundane trips to the supermarket were deserving of photos, it seemed.  
  
There were only about fifteen photos in the next album, and all of them were crudely taken; out of focus and crooked. It was like someone had been trying their best to recreate the happiness that was so evident in the last album, but they had failed miserably.  
  
With a dull feeling in the pit of his stomach, Cas put the photo albums back on the shelf. He didn't know what had suddenly turned the Winchester's lives upside down, but maybe, one day, Dean would tell him.

* * *

When the little clock on the microwave told him that it was twenty to one, Cas was still hanging around in his boxer shorts and socks. But his other clothes were almost dry, and the house hadn't burnt down, so he was feeling rather optimistic about the whole thing.  
  
He was just thinking about what he should do for lunch - after a brief Google search a few days ago, he'd learnt that there was a nice burger shop down the road - when he heard the door opening behind him.  
  
Cas whirled around, expecting a brawny prowler with some sort of weapon to be snarling at the door. He wasn't quite sure what he would have done, had it been an intruder, because hand-to-hand combat wasn't one of his strengths, and he really doubted that Dean would have a handy gun lying around.  
  
Fortunately - or, unfortunately, depending on how Cas looked at the situation - the person in the doorway was an amused-looking Dean, whose lips were curled upwards in a smirk, his fair eyebrows raised.  
  
"Hiya, Cas." Dean chuckled, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. "How're things here?"  
  
Cas felt himself turning a regrettable crimson - here he was, trying to make a good impression on his new roommate, standing in the middle of his living room in only his pants and odd socks.  
  
"Uh, hello, Dean." Cas finally answered, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I- I wasn't expecting you back here until after five o'clock."  
  
But then Cas realised that was probably the wrong thing to say, because it implied that he was walking around in his pants because he thought he wouldn't get caught.  
  
Dean smiled cheerfully, and moved into the kitchen to put a brown paper bag down on the countertop.  
  
"I thought I'd come and see how you were getting on. It's my lunch break now." he explained. "And I see…" Dean smirked at Cas, and gestured to all of the clothes hung up around the fireplace. "You've certainly made yourself at home."  
  
Cas fidgeted awkwardly, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around his naked torso. "I'm sorry." he said, dismayed that Dean probably thought he was some sort of crazy freak who wandered around half-naked on a permanent basis. "I was on my way over, and it started to rain, and all of my clothes got wet, and my suitcase is-"  
  
Dean waved his hands dismissively, and bent down to grab two china plates from the cupboard underneath the counter. "Hey, you don't need to explain yourself, Cas." he said, putting the plates on the table. "It doesn't bother me. It's fine."  
  
Cas gave an inward sigh of relief, and drifted over to where Dean was taking two burgers out of the paper bag. They were probably from down the road, and they smelt just as good as the internet had told him they would.  
  
"You hungry?" Dean asked, glancing over at Cas expectantly. "I bought a burger for you too, because I thought you'd be hungry after all that walking. And I figured you'd be too polite to help yourself to whatever's in the pantry." Dean chuckled to himself, obviously in good spirits.  
  
Cas nodded his head in response to Dean's question, and took a plate from him; eying the burger greedily. Dean was right - he was starving, and it looked delicious.  
  
"These are possibly the best burgers in the entire world- though don't hold me to that. I could be wrong. I've heard there's a pretty good burger shop somewhere in Oregon, so I'll have to go there one day to properly decide where you can buy the very best." Dean hummed, fishing around in the fridge, and coming out with a jar of what Cas thought looked like mayonnaise.  
  
"Thank you, Dean, for the burger." Cas murmured, watching as Dean heaped a spoonful of the foul-smelling stuff onto his burger. Dean then put the mayonnaise back in the fridge, and made his way over to the dining table in the corner of the room. Cas followed meekly. "It looks very nice. And, please, let me pay you back."  
  
Because there was nothing that Cas hated more than owing somebody something, or being a burden to someone. He had never coped well with debts - small or large, it never made a difference - because, in his experience, they usually blew up in his face, and made him panic.  
  
Dean shot him an incredulous look, before his eyes softened, and he chuckled under his breath. "Listen, Cas, if you're going to live here with me, then you're gonna have to let me buy you crap, okay?"  
  
Cas's eyebrows drew together in confusion, and, clumsily, he sat down in the chair across from Dean. "That's very kind of you, but I don't want to be a liability."  
  
Dean rolled his eyes playfully, and took a big bite of his burger. "Well, then you can buy me food too, okay? We don't have to pay halves for everything, you know. Sometimes I'll buy all the food, sometimes you can buy all the food." he said through a mouthful of burger. "That way we won't end up owing each other money or whatever. Okay?"  
  
Cas nodded, pleased with the proposition. "Okay."  
  
The burgers tasted as good as the internet told him they would, too.


	7. Chapter 7

  
_~Praying for Redemption~_  
Chapter Seven.

Cas's first evening with Dean was far different from what he'd been expecting. As someone who had never had a roommate in their life, Cas had been expecting that they'd have dinner, say goodnight to each other ridiculously early, and then retire into their separate rooms for the evening.

But, so far, what was actually happening was far more enjoyable.

It had started off with Dean announcing that he was going to make dinner. He had asked if Cas had any requests - to which, of course, Cas had answered 'no', because you couldn't really have requests on your very first night, could you?

Dean had then proceeded to defrost some mince that had been stored in his freezer, and, with a little bit of Cas's very awkward help, had thrown together a very nice lasagne that Cas was sure tasted better than any home cooked meal he had ever eaten in his life.

After eating, Cas had insisted on doing the dishes, even though Dean had told him not to bother, and that he'd tackle them in the morning. But, of course, Cas couldn't just _leave_ the dishes sitting on the kitchen counter - half of it politeness, the other half a weird sort of OCD - and so he had washed the dishes and watched Dean poke at the fire a bit more.

And then Cas had mentioned that he was going to his room, and he was surprised to notice that Dean's face had fallen. Cas had briefly wondered why, before kicking himself for not realizing it sooner. Dean had told him that one of the reasons he had advertised for a roommate was because he got lonely, and here Cas was, suggesting that they part for the night at a mere eight o'clock in the evening.

Of course, Dean, the perfect gentleman, had waved Cas off to bed, with cheerful promises of, _'See you tomorrow morning!'_ and friendly imperatives like, _'Sleep well!'_ , but it had only taken five minutes before Cas backtracked, and wandered back into the living room under the pretense that he 'wanted to see what was on the television'.

So, now, here he was, sitting at one end of Dean's delightfully swanky sofa, his feet curled up underneath him comfortably. Dean, of course, was at the other end; sprawled out inelegantly, socked feet propped up on the coffee table in front of said sofa.

"So, Cas. Tell me a little about yourself." Dean instructed lazily, pushing his head back against the cushions, and emitting a comfortable, quiet moan at the contact.

Cas was silent for a second, wondering what he could possibly tell Dean about himself. He wasn't an exciting person, not at all, and the only things he could talk about were the tragedies he had faced, and he _definitely_ did not want to bore Dean with his woes.

"There's not really much to say." Cas decided on a few seconds later, quietly picking at the fluff on the cushion to his right. "I'm not an interesting person at all."

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, his bright eyes amused. "Sure you are."

Cas said nothing.

"Okay then. What are your hobbies?" Dean asked, scratching lightly at his forehead.

Cas thought for a second. What _did_ he enjoy doing? Reading, mostly. Quite often writing, though he didn't think he was any good, despite how much he enjoyed it. Damn it, how uninteresting could he make himself sound? Why couldn't he have an interesting hobby? Like fixing cars - which was surely Dean's hobby - or playing a foreign instrument, or even working with wood? But no. He enjoyed reading and writing; surely two of the most cliché hobbies out there.

"Cas?" Dean prompted, moving his feet from the coffee table to poke at Cas's thigh gently with his toe.

"I… I don't have many exciting hobbies," Cas admitted, "but I like reading, and I enjoy writing, even though I'm not very good."

Dean perked up slightly. "You like writing? That's cool. What do you write?"

Cas smiled to himself. Of course Dean would be interested with whatever he said his hobbies were - even something as ordinary as writing. It seemed as though he was just that type of person; infinitely fascinated with anything and everything.

"I write poetry, mostly."

Dean nodded his head. "That's pretty cool. I can't write to save my life. What kind of things do you talk about in your poems?"

Cas faltered slightly, and looked down at his lap briefly, before glancing back up into Dean's astonishing eyes. "Uh, mainly death, I suppose."

Dean's eyebrows shot up, and Cas instantly wished he hadn't answered truthfully. Way to point out that he was a nutjob with some pretty freaky mental issues.

"That's, uh, pretty… dark. Is there a reason for that? Have you… Have you lost someone important?"

Cas felt himself freeze up, and he shook his head minutely, lips pressed together in a thin line, fingers curling up into tight fists - not threatening, just scared.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Because it was far too early for him to be telling Dean his tragic back story. Perhaps he could, one day, but for now, Cas needed it to be his little secret, the thing that kept him - and only him - lying awake at night; sobbing and tired, yet unable to do anything about it.

Instead of telling Dean all of this, Cas turned his eyes to his roommate to watch his reaction. Cas expected Dean to rush in with the usual sorrows; _oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I wasn't thinking, god, look at me, such an idiot, ha ha, always putting my foot in it._

But instead of all the over-the-top apologies, Dean nodded his head, and gave Cas a remorseful smile. "All right. I'm sorry for bringing it up." Calm. _Sincere_. Dean really was something special, Cas decided.

There was a bit of a silence then, and Cas fidgeted awkwardly, sighing inwardly because he'd - unsurprisingly - managed to make the atmosphere uncomfortable.

But then Dean spoke up, his eyes soft and sad. "You know, I lost someone once. My mom. She died when I was very young, but I still think about her a lot, and sometimes I wonder what she'd think of me now."

So that was the story of the missing photos, then. Dean's mother had passed away - poor, poor Mary Winchester, with her eyes that smiled like Dean's. Cas supposed that it had just hurt far too much to take happy family photos when such a key individual was missing.

The Winchesters must have been very family orientated, Cas decided, because there had been an eight year time skip in the photo albums, which was a large fraction of childhood to have missed out on.

But… Well, Cas was surprised that Dean's mother had actually died. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this. Not the death of Mary. Dean seemed like such a happy person, and it was hard to believe that he'd had such horrible things happen to him too.

Cas had never had anyone in his life who'd been through something similar to him. He had always been the odd one out - the only one who'd personally been touched by death's unrelenting fingers.

So to meet someone who knew what it felt like to lose a loved one; someone who understood the raw, aching hole he felt in his chest… well, Cas didn't think that Dean Winchester could get any more remarkable.

"I'm sorry." Cas said quietly, folding his hands in his lap. "How did it- how did it happen?"

"A house fire. She was in my brother's room when it caught fire, and she… well, she burnt to death. We only just managed to get my brother out alive. He's incredibly lucky, and I think he forgets that sometimes."

Cas felt a pang of sadness for the two Winchester boys; knowing that their mom had burnt to death - slowly and painfully - must be hard for them. But Cas supposed it didn't really matter how people died. In the end, there was always someone missing, and always someone hurting.

And to know that Dean was hurting too… well, Cas didn't feel quite so alone anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

~ _Praying for Redemption~_  
Chapter Eight.

The next day was a Thursday, which meant that Dean was off to work again; awake bright and early at six o'clock in the morning.

Dean wasn't particularly quiet in the mornings, Cas noticed. Perhaps it was because he was used to living alone - it had, after all, been a few months since he had shared the apartment with his brother - and he had probably forgotten about Cas's presence.

So when Dean clattered around in the kitchen, making himself breakfast, Cas thought that it would be rude - seeing as he was now awake - not to wander in and say goodbye to his roommate.

When Cas emerged from his - very nice and surprisingly large - bedroom, Dean jumped in surprise, spilling some of his coffee on his shirt.

"Oh, hey there, Cas." he said, reaching for a tea towel to wipe at his shirt with. "I hope I didn't wake you. I keep forgetting that you live here now." He chuckled to himself, and, having cleaned up his shirt, poured some milk on his bland-looking cereal.

"You didn't wake me." Cas lied, following Dean into the living room. Again, he perched at one end of the sofa, and watched as Dean tried to balance his full bowl on his knees without spilling the milk all over the sofa.

"That's good. So, what are your plans for today? I might be home a little earlier than yesterday, so hopefully you won't have to amuse yourself for too long." Dean said through a mouthful of muesli.

Cas considered the question quietly, before finally speaking up. "What is there to do around here?"

Dean's eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. "Not too much, I don't think. You could wander around the shops, but it'll be cold outside." he said, casting a fleeting glance towards the windows. "You could just stay in here and watch crap daytime TV."

Cas nodded to himself, and shivered in the cool air, despite the fact that he was wearing his toasty-warm dressing gown.

"Oh, and feel free to, you know-" Dean gestured lazily towards the fireplace with his spoon. "-keep yourself warm."

"I will, thank you." Cas replied, and then, after a few seconds, added: "Do you think your brother would mind if I read some of his books?"

Dean grinned at him, and shoveled another mouthful of muesli into his mouth. "Nah. He'll be glad to have someone to talk about them with. Complete nerd, my brother."

Cas was pleased with that answer. He liked the mysteries and dramas of books, and found contentment in the amazing dream worlds within. Sam certainly had a wide range of novels, and Cas could only see a few that he had already read. But it was only then that Cas registered what Dean had said.

_He'll be glad to have someone to talk about them with._

"Will I be meeting Sam, or…?" Cas asked, feigning nonchalance, despite the fact that he was already starting to feel slightly panicky. Meeting and moving in with Dean was one thing, and, though he liked Dean, Cas wasn't quite sure how he felt about having to talk politely to another stranger.

Dean glanced over at him, his eyebrows furrowing. "Only if you want to. You don't like meeting new people, huh?"

Well, Dean had seen straight through his attempt at indifference, it seemed.

Cas shrugged awkwardly, and turned his gaze to the fluffy carpet. "Not really, no. Strangers make me… uncomfortable."

Dean nodded, and returned to his cereal. Cas was relieved that Dean didn't bring up the fact that he had accepted him so quickly - that could have been a bit of an awkward conversation to enter into.

"Well, I'm sure you'll like Sam." Dean commented quietly, after a few seconds of silent eating. "He's a right old geek, that one. But you don't have to meet him if you don't want to."

Cas sighed inwardly; frustrated with himself and his stupid social anxieties. He hated how his low self-esteem and pointless nervousness made meeting new people such a big issue, but he just couldn't help it. And he knew that meeting Sam would be a good thing to do, but he just… couldn't.

* * *

After he had finished eating his breakfast, got dressed, and brushed his teeth, Dean left the apartment with a cheery wave at six thirty three precisely, leaving Cas to sit, alone, at his already-established end of the sofa.

Already, Cas felt the insistent whispers of loneliness, and he wondered why. He'd never been the type who was easily lonesome; he usually enjoyed the peace that isolation provided him.

But here he was, with at least nine hours stretched out in front of him with nothing to do.

An eclectic combination of sounds that was supposed to be some mainstream pop song suddenly blared out from his phone; alerting Cas that he had received a text message. Curiously, he pulled his phone towards him - the only texts he ever received were from the phone company, alerting to him to more special deals that he wouldn't ever buy.

But this one was from Dean.

_You could always go to the gym down the road, if that's your kind of thing. -Dean_

Cas smiled to himself, pleased with his budding friendship with Dean. Everyone knew that once you started texting someone, it meant that you liked them, right?

Painstakingly slowly, Cas typed out his reply; squinting at the screen when it offered him helpful hints at what it thought he was trying to write. He'd never fully understood the concept of autocorrect; he'd seen enough evidence to conclude that, usually, it just made conversations more awkward than initially planned.

_It's not really, but thank you anyway. -Cas_

He pressed send and put his phone down, expecting that to be the end of the conversation. But, to his delight, Dean texted back instantly, causing Cas's phone to start up with the truly awful pop song again.

_They do yoga classes, if that interests you more. -Dean_

Cas smirked to himself, and started his reply.

_Oh really? Are you sure that's not more your thing? I can imagine you sporting some nice lycra, Dean. -Cas_

Immediately after sending the text, Cas felt himself panic. What if Dean didn't recognize his message as a joke? What if Dean thought he was being rude? What if it was far too early in their friendship to be poking fun at each other?

_Ouch. I'll have you know that I'm much more of a weight lifting man myself, actually. -Dean_

Cas shook his head fondly, feeling more joyful in that moment than he had for what felt like forever. Dean Winchester was going to be the start of something good for him, and, for the first time in years, Cas wasn't afraid.

_I'm sure you are. -Cas._


	9. Chapter 9

~ _Praying for Redemption~  
C_hapter Nine.

Without anyone noticing it, Cas and Dean slipped into a nice, dependable routine.

Dean would get up ridiculously early in the morning and clatter around in the kitchen making breakfast, and Cas would venture out of his room to watch Dean watch the morning news.

Then Dean would go off to work, and a few minutes later, Cas would receive an amusing text message - about either something Dean had seen on his way to work, or some song he liked that he had heard on the radio.

Cas would then laze around the apartment for a few hours; eating the junk food that Dean stored like he expected to be snowed in at some point in the future, watching pointless daytime TV like Dean had suggested, or playing the silly games that Dean had downloaded onto his phone.

But sometimes- sometimes Cas even did productive things, like cleaning the shower, or washing the dishes, or going out grocery shopping - _despite_ the fact that the woman who worked there had a lazy eye and kept calling him 'sweetie'.

And then, after Cas had wasted a significant chunk of his day doing not much, Dean would come home from the garage, and the two would lounge around together, making fun of the copious numbers of reality TV shows and their 'stars'.

Then Dean would suggest that it was time for dinner, and they'd either make something healthy and home-cooked, or, if they were too lazy, they'd order pizza and get it delivered to their door, because, damn it, it was cold outside.

And then after dinner- well, that's when they talked. Really talked. About anything and everything; what made them happy, what made them sad, what they were scared of, what they looked forward to.

And that was the part of the day the Cas dreaded the most; though, at the same time, it was also the part he most enjoyed. He liked listening to Dean's gruff voice, he liked hearing about Dean's life. He just didn't… didn't want Dean to find out about his past.

So he kept his mouth firmly shut about his issues, and chose to, instead, listen to all of Dean's tales.

So far, Cas had learnt all about Dean's brother, Sam. According to Dean - though Cas doubted the credibility of the statement, because he was sure that Dean's pride clouded his judgement a bit - Sam was a genius. He'd always been interested in studying law, and a few months ago, he'd been accepted into Stanford on a full scholarship.

Apparently, Sam was a "real good kid", and - judging by the way Dean spoke about him - a genuinely nice guy with a big heart. He'd been torn up about going off to Stanford because he didn't want Dean to be too lonely on his own, but, in the end, Dean had all but kicked him out of the apartment, with the promise that he'd 'find another roommate'.

Dean told Cas that he'd called Sam the night that Cas had decided he wanted to move in, and, apparently, Sam was overjoyed that Dean wasn't going to be alone anymore. For reasons he didn't quite understand, that made Cas proud; _he_ was the one who was keeping Dean company, not anyone else.

Cas had even been able to see a slightly blurry photo of Sam, and, despite Dean's comment about how he was "freaking huge", Cas was certainly surprised by how tall he was. Cas had thought that he was relatively tall at just under six foot, but, apparently, Sam was _six foot four._

Sam had the same good looks as Dean, what with his nice smile and straight white teeth and messy brown hair that flopped into his bright hazel-green eyes. The Winchester brothers were both extremely attractive, and it made Cas wonder how Dean saw him. He knew he wasn't much to look at; subtly slim, with scruffy hair that was contrastingly dark against his pale skin, and uncomfortably piercing bright blue eyes.

But, all superficial ideas aside, a little part of Cas realised that, maybe, meeting Sam wouldn't be too bad - because if he was anything like Dean, then Cas was sure that he'd instantly like the brother with all the books.

* * *

Twelve days after moving in with Dean, Cas decided that he needed to start earning some money. He couldn't keep relying on Dean's kindness forever, and pretty soon he'd need to start buying things for himself, like a new laptop. His old one - which he considered one of his most loved possessions - was getting old, and almost every day for the past week, Cas had had to physically push the off button to get it to shut down.

But Cas didn't particularly want to work. He liked staying at home, in the apartment, and he didn't want to go out and work with people he didn't know. He'd already been fired because of his personal issues, and - even though meeting Dean had muffled the impact of his past on his life - he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold down a proper job.

So, ideally? He needed something he could do from home.

Pondering, Cas wandered over to the sofa, and curled up into a tight ball, his knees pressed to his chest. He squeezed his eyes closed, and tried to think of all of the possible jobs that he wouldn't hate doing.

After a few minutes, it suddenly hit him with an incredible force. He could write a book! Though he enjoyed writing poems the most, Cas had always been intrigued with the struggles that writing realistic character development brought with it.

Eagerly, Cas pulled out his phone to text Dean with his career idea.

_I am thinking of writing a novel. Thoughts? -Cas_

Though Dean was supposed to be working, he texted back immediately, and his message conveyed an overwhelming amount of excitement. Trust Dean to be so enthusiastic about everything.

_Wow, that's great, Cas! Do you know what you want to write about yet? -Dean_

Cas smiled to himself, not at all discouraged by the fact that he really didn't have a clue what his book was going to be about.

_Not yet, though I'm sure I'll think of something. -Cas_

Discarding his phone, Cas went into his bedroom and fetched his laptop, before sitting back down on the sofa, his laptop perched optimistically on his knees.

He turned it on, and waited through the inevitable ten minutes of loading, before he opened up a fresh document, and sat there simply staring at the screen; willing it to tell him what he should write.

A romantic comedy? No, Cas didn't understand how relationships worked, and he'd probably end up writing a novel that - inadvertently - focused on the neglect and abuse of certain relationships, with his poor attempts as humour woven in between the awkward physical scenes.

A series of action-packed thrillers? No, Cas couldn't really stomach gore anymore, and he didn't want to write something that involved a lot of fighting. He wanted to write something a bit more sobering; something original.

So, what _could_ he write about? He didn't know much about the world, except for that fact that it wasn't fair. It was harsh and cold and unforgiving, and not everyone got the happy endings they deserved.

And, as soon as he realised that, Cas couldn't stop the words from flowing.


End file.
